


Let Light And Twilight Mingle

by christinefromsherwood



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2020-2021, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, POV Q (James Bond), Post-Skyfall, Time Loop With A Twist, they still work at mi6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Q had known sleeping with J-Bondwas a mistake from the start, and that was the… a lie. That was a lie. It had seemed like an incredibly good idea when the man escaped from Medical that first night only to appear in Q-branch, prowling the garages, and Q-Q’d beensofucking sorry, and James had looked like one of those Baroque paintings of King Arthmael’s Trial, a lightning storm in a desert in his eyes. Q had let James push him up against the blue Jaguar, breaking the zipper on his trousers with how fast he needed to take them off, how desperate James’s mouth on his made him.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 71
Kudos: 115
Collections: 2020-2021 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).



> Thank you, **Truth** , for the the lovely art you made which inspired me to write this fic. The art appears in the last chapter and, guys, just you wait, it is so gorgeous!  
> Thank you, **Souffle** , for your betareading, hand-holding, brainstorming and being the one I can turn to with questions like: "what does the air smell like at a Cornish seaside in June at night?". You are very awesome. The awesomest in fact.  
> Thank you, **az** , for telling me about the knife and where it came from and thus saving me hours from searching the wiki and going through the movie frame by frame.  
> Thank you, **Nut** , for organizing and modding this RBB and making all of this possible. 
> 
> This fic would not exist without you! 
> 
> I really love this one, folks. It is all written and edited and finished and will be posted during next week. I hope you enjoy reading it and will let me know if you do. :) (Also, there be porn in the last chapter, and cursewords are scattered liberally throughout the fic, so I guess beware if this is something you dislike)

The air in the cave was hot with premonition. Q felt it press against his back, settle into his pores and squeeze all the moisture from his body. His T-shirt wouldn’t stop catching against his sides as he crouched on the ground, and with trembling fingers and sweat stinging in his eyes, finished drawing the array. 

He sat back on his heels and squinted at the lines criss-crossing the dusty floor. It was dark in the cave, and they’d had to leave all their tech in the Aston. They’d debated the flashlight but in the end decided not to risk it. All Q had to go on for the array was the grimoire printout James had given him and a beam of moonlight, coming from the entrance, which grew stronger and stronger as the Earth turned. Now, it glinted silver against the blade in James’s hand. 

It was almost time. At least, Q hoped so.

“James?” His voice came out faint. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. 

Knife held loosely in his right hand, James turned and Q was once again struck with the difference in his look.

“Is this right? Is it ready?” 

James blinked at him, then huffed out a laugh, which _didn’t_ echo. Q felt a sudden chill run down his spine. 

They were very far from the Q-branch labs. Away from the buffers built in the walls, neutralising elixirs, or gear inlaid with protective runes... Magic _au naturel_ , James had called it in the car with a dirty grin and skin taut around his eyes. 

When they’d first stepped into the _fougou_ , the rush of arcane power had been enough to almost choke Q. Now, combined with the knife and the moonlight, it curled around his every breath, muffling it. He doubted whether he would be able to hear his own heartbeat in his ears once the ritual began. 

At least James’s palm on the side of his face still felt warm, calluses catching against sparse stubble as James stroked his cheek.

“I don’t know, darling.” Q half-heard, half-guessed the words. It made it easier not to startle at the endearment, but James’s eyes dimmed a little as though he’d guessed anyway. He shrugged and continued: 

“Like I told you, we’ve never been this far before.”

One shuddering breath, then Q nodded. James had told him. 

James stroked his cheek again; Q closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from leaning into the touch. The next words came as a breathy caress against the corner of his mouth:

“This is your show, darling. You’re the one who created it.”

He did. 

Nodding again, Q stepped back to take in the scene.

James held the knife, still. Good. They couldn’t afford for the blade to be contaminated once out of its protective sheath. In London, Q would be worried about the air even.

The array on the floor… Q took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty, ink-stained hands against his trousers. He knew this, he _knew_ this. He hadn’t touched arcane rituals since uni—no sane person did—but he knew this. 

The lines curled symmetrically around the center of the array, and- Q winced at the sight of his first unsteady strokes. He made himself take another calming breath. The moonlight was still a few degrees off. He had time to correct it.

All the Old Language characters were there: the Goddess, the wheel, the stag, the staff, the spiral next to their corresponding elements. Q couldn’t believe his eyes when James had first shown him the page, but now with all of them present, they looked like they belonged. They made sense. 

That was the thing about proper arcane rituals: they had to make sense. 

His ears popped then and Q darted into the middle of the intricate pattern, balancing on his tiptoes as he smoothed out the swirl around the _stag_. Letting momentum carry him, he jumped clean off the delicate lines and for the first time that day, began to feel the stirs of exhilaration in his stomach.

That was another thing about proper arcane rituals: they gave you a very nice high.

“Nearly there, James,” Q said and only a hum reached his ears. He tore off his shirt and undid his belt. James couldn’t have heard him at all, still he nodded and followed his example.

Then they stood there, either side of the array, naked, counting their steps, waiting for the moon to- 

The array lit up. Q’s wings caught on fire. 

They had to have, or at least it felt like it. Q had forgotten what it was like when moonlight sent unfiltered magic into your vestigial, forgotten, _invisible_ organs. Pins and needles and fire ants. 

Across from him, James was clenching his fist around the knife, trying to keep the pain from showing on his face. Q didn’t want to imagine what it must have been like for him; he wanted to make some comforting gesture, reassure James that it would pass soon enough, that they would be ok, but there was no time for that.

The moon was high, the array was shining like a thousand LEDs, and the air their lungs were frantically trying to send through their bloodstream was more magic than oxygen by now.

It was time to begin the ritual.


	2. In-between the sun and moon

#### Un

_“Off!” Q said, narrowing his eyes at Matilda. “Off! Shoo! Horrible cats!”_

_Nimue meowed reproachfully from her position on the floor, presumably insulted at having been included when_ she _was being good and waiting patiently. As though she hadn’t lied in wait atop the fridge and jumped on Q’s head first thing that morning. But she had and Q had the scratches across his left shoulder blade to prove it._

_Sighing, he set one of the cat toys down on the counter and reached for the spray bottle. Matilda froze; Q raised his weapon. The battle of wills began._

_Q supposed he should have known better than to name his two kittens after history’s fiercest queen warriors. Entitled, spoilt, gorgeous, pig-headed and bloodthirsty, they were… cats, and following their namesakes’ examples quite nicely._

_“You think I won’t spray you? Because I will. With_ water _,” Q said darkly, hoping to add some weight to his threatening stance. He really didn’t want to use the spray bottle. The cats always got in a snit and went off to a corner to plot his demise (or the demise of his furniture) whenever he did, and Q needed to leave now, he was already running late._

_“Off,” he repeated, waving the bottle for emphasis. Matilda shot him an injured look and vacated the kitchen counter. “Thank you.”_

_Normally, Q would take the time to properly praise the little hellion for not giving him any more trouble. Now, he simply continued to make distracted, approving noises as he poured catnip into the toys before returning the vial to his apothecary cabinet to hide behind the dried orange peel again._

_Two hard-plastic apples filled with catnip, with grooves for scratching along the sides. That should last them well into the afternoon. He hoped._

_Wincing at the time, Q sent the toys rolling into the bedroom and crept out of the flat to the muffled sounds of battle royale. He was running late and this was already going to be extremely awkward. Q didn’t want to imagine what James- what_ Bond _would think if he made him wait for him in the restaurant for a lunch that_ Q _had insisted on having._

_For fuck’s sake._

_Outside, the sun was already high in the sky and scorching hot. Q briefly regretted not putting on sunscreen._

_He had known sleeping with J-_ Bond _was a mistake from the start, and that was the… a lie. That was a lie. It had seemed like an incredibly good idea when the man escaped from Medical that first night, only to appear in Q-branch, prowling the garages, and Q-_

 _Q’d been_ so _fucking sorry, and James had looked like one of those Baroque paintings of King Arthmael’s Trial, a lightning storm in a desert in his eyes. Q had let James push him up against the blue Jaguar, breaking the zipper on his trousers with how fast he needed to take them off, how desperate James’s mouth on his made him._

_“Oi! Watch where you’re going!”_

_“Wha-” Q jerked to a stop mere inches before the cycle lane. “Fuck.”_

_The cyclist passed him with a muttered: “Twat!” and Q couldn’t even be offended. Too busy daydreaming about shagging James Bond to pay attention while crossing the street! For fuck’s sake._

_Q took advantage of a brief lull in traffic to run across to the other side, where the pavement got more shade from the buildings. He usually tried to get a tan in the spring, to protect his face a little in the summer with the “unprecedented heat waves” hitting the country more and more regularly in the past several years. But there’d been no chance of that after what happened at Skyfall and with Mallory coming in, system overhauls and the newly hired lab mages taking their sweet time to learn the ropes._

_Q would have probably quit or lost his mind if it hadn’t been for the fact that when things got too much, he could simply call James and then scream his frustration into the couch cushion of whatever hotel suite James was currently renting. And sometimes James would come into Q-branch with that look in his eyes, and there were so many empty office spaces still in the new building..._

_It had been great, sex with James. Fantastic even, since James learnt really quickly when to tug on Q’s hair just so and not to even think about biting his nipples. Q himself found out about that one spot on James’s inner thigh, and how he liked to be kissed when he came and also to_ never _touch his back._

_Q was ducking into the tube entrance when his feet slipped._

_“Fuck!” He clutched at the railing, feet scrambling to find purchase on the stone steps. It felt like someone had poured water all over them, froze it and then smoothed it out into a perfect, glossy finish. Still hanging onto the railing, Q jumped down a few steps and turned around to see what the fuck-_

_A broken bubble wand lay on the step above him, its soapy contents coating the exact spot Q’d walked into. For fuck’s sake. It was like the universe was conspiring against him._

_Q waited until he was well beyond the stairs and any dangerous surfaces before he pulled out his phone to text Jam-_ Bond _._

Sorry, running a bit late. 

_He put it back in his pocket before he could focus on the messages from the previous conversation too much._

Meet me at the Kitty Hawk at 1 tomorrow? Need to talk to you. 

ok

_Sex with Bond was fantastic. But that’s all it was and now that Bond was about to be reinstated, it was past time Q put an end to it._

* * *

“You think I won’t spray you?” Q said, trying to insert a certain level of menacing promise into his voice. “Because I will. With _water_.” Matilda continued to stare him down, almost as though she knew he wouldn’t make good on his threat. Which was fair. 

Q really didn’t want to use the spray bottle. He didn’t have time to deal with the aftermath: her and Nimue deciding it was a betrayal of the highest order and they therefore get to tear up his throw pillows and desecrate the coffee table. But that’s what he got for naming his kittens after Empress Matilda and Nimue of Paviland, the most ruthless and battle-hungry of British rulers. He just really liked the names; he might have known they’d grow into them.

“Off,” Q repeated, giving the spray bottle a shake so that she could hear the water slosh inside. He sighed in relief when Matilda did the cat equivalent of rolling her eyes at him and jumped off the counter. “Thank you.” 

He was running late as it was and he doubted Jam- _Bond_ would be very pleased with him if he made him wait because he was too busy preparing toys so that his cats wouldn’t destroy his flat while he was out.

Q had no idea how the lunch was going to go. He had debated with himself whether it was actually necessary to meet, or if he could just send James a text. But after the seventh rewriting of what was essentially _So, for the sake of my sanity, I don’t think we should fuck anymore, yeah?_ Q had bitten the bullet and just texted him to meet.

He screwed the tops into the two toys, securing the catnip inside. Unless, he mused, his cats had somehow developed secret opposable thumbs. 

Q just hoped Bond hadn’t thought Q was inviting him out for a date, or something. The minute-long pause between when he’d read Q’s message and sent his reply suggested he might have. 

Suddenly, his phone blared to life on the counter. 

“Fuck!” Nearly dropping the vial with catnip, Q took a split second to thank the manufacturer for the reinforcement runes cut into the bottom, before he checked his screen. 

James Bond. 

Oh.

Maybe he was running late, too?

“Er- hi?”

“Good morning, Q,” came from the speaker. Q almost checked the caller ID again. It _was_ James, but there was something different about his voice. “What time is it? 12:30? You haven’t set out for the restaurant yet, have you?”

Q narrowed his eyes. He sounded… a little out of breath. 

“No? Is something-”

“Nothing’s wrong, darling, don’t worry.” 

Q froze at the endearment. “Did you- Did you see the game last night?” he asked, hoping he was remembering the phrase right. Then he had to pull his phone away when James barked out a laugh.

“I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong. Really,” he said, but Q could hear his grin in his voice and, clearly, _something_ was up. “I’m not compromised, Quartermaster.” 

“Well, goo-” 

“Meooooooow!” 

Q hissed when he felt two pairs of clawed feet dig into the meat of his thigh. Nimue had clearly lost her patience with him dangling their rightful, sweet-smelling property over their heads and resorted to her favourite tactic: climbing.

He was just about to fling the two toy apples as far from his body as possible when-

“Was that Nim?” James asked. Q dropped the toys. 

Something was wrong. Something was _wrong_. He might have mentioned his cats to Bond before. He supposed it was possible he’d called them by name when James was around, but he’d never- 

“Oh fuck, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m sorry, darling. I promise I will explain. Later.” Q jerked his head away when a loud gust of wind shrilled from the speaker. 

“What- Where even are you?” The tree outside his kitchen window stood completely still, not a single leaf twitching.

James cleared his throat. “Q, I promise I’ll explain, but I need your help now.”

“My help?”

“I need you to get me into the Archives.”

Q froze. “What. The. Fuck.”

“I know.” He sounded contrite. 

“Do you?! You want me to hack _our_ Archives. What the fuck is going on, James? And don’t you dare say that you’ll explain later!”

He sighed. “I need the knife, Q.”

“What kn-” But suddenly, Q knew what knife. “ _What_?!” 

He took an unconscious step back, mind rebelling at the memory of that one terrible scream over the coms, cut off so abruptly, and James’s emotionless _It was my father’s_ when the ministry officials arrived at the kirk. 

“What’s going-”

“Can you trust me, Q?” James’s voice came out tentative and Q snorted, though he appreciated the delicate phrasing. “I need the knife today. For a ritual, and they’re not just going to give it to us.” 

A ritual. A _fucking_ ritual. Under the _fucking_ Midsummer moon. _For fuck’s sake._

“Oh my stars, you twat!” Stalking off towards his office, Q knew his voice was rising to incredible heights, but he didn’t care. “Of course, they aren’t! Those protocols are there for a reason. Where did you get your calculations?” 

“ _The Triads_.”

Q froze with his hand on his laptop lid. “ _Morgan’s Triads_? You didn’t- You’re using a 2000-year-old book for this? James, they’ll be off! What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?!”

Q waited for the OS to boot and tried to ignore the hurt that was slowly but surely settling over his confusion. This clearly wasn’t on a whim. Rituals needed planning, even the simple, recreational kind. And there was no way anything that required the cursed knife that killed Silva—that Silva had used _to cut off Bond’s wings_ —could be described as simple or recreational. Which meant that Bond had been planning this for a while, had someone helping him, and Q had had no idea. But now that it fell through… James Bond’s last resort. For fuck’s sake.

“Q-”

“You’re going to tell me everything,” he said, ignoring that strange tone in Bond’s voice. No matter how little Bond thought of what they were to each other, Q was his Quartermaster and he wasn’t going to let him fuck around with arcane magic. 

“Q, you’re- Thank you. I will. I promise.” 

Q rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Now tell me where you are.”

“In place. On the roof.”

Of course, he was. 

For fuck’s sake.

* * *

#### Un ar bymtheg

 _It had been great, sex with James. Fantastic even, since James learnt really quickly when to tug on Q’s hair just so and not to even think about biting his nipples. Q himself found out about that one spot on James’s inner thigh, and how he liked to be kissed when he came and also to_ never _touch his back._

_Q was just about the duck into the Tube entrance when his phone rang._

_He paused mid-step, closing his eyes for a moment before he reached into his pocket. He’d fucking earned his day off, and if someone at the office had once again decided to think of the decontamination shower as an optional perk of the job, rather than the fucking requirement it was before stepping a foot inside his labs, he was going to… Well, Q wasn’t sure what he was going to do, only that it would be terrible._

_Surely, at least on Midsummer, when there was only the skeleton crew, people would be careful?_

_Q experienced a brief moment of relief when his screen showed_ Calling: James Bond _. That was, however, quickly replaced by niggling apprehension._

_But maybe he was running late, too?_

_“Er- hi?” Q greeted hesitantly and waited. And waited. Then he checked if he had actually accepted the call._

_On the screen, the timer logged the seconds since their call connected._

_“J- Bond? Are you- Can you hear me?”_

_Again, nothing._

_Doing his best to ignore the inexplicable sense of foreboding that had settled over him, Q took a few steps away from stairs._

_“Hello? I’m- er- Yeah, I’m running a bit- But you still can’t hear me, right,” he said moving further into the open. “Ugh, sorry, I’m trying to move. I'm just about to get on the Tube so maybe that’s-”_

_A half-sob, half-moan came from the speaker. Q froze._

_“James?” he said, voice cracking. He resisted the urge to check his screen again, to see if it really was James, because he’d never heard him sound like that before. He’d never heard anyone make such a noise before: pained and desperate and sad. “James, are you-”_

_“Noooo. No. No. No,” James groaned into the speaker, and Q turned on his heel and ran, mind whirling._

_He needed his laptop, then to hack the nearest tower and triangulate-_

_“Not_ again _,” James wailed. Q’s steps faltered. “Not again! You haveto- have to shtay! Stay in-! No!”_

_Q stopped in the middle of the street, panting as he listened to James Bond prattle into his ear._

_“You’re drunk?!” he hissed. “It’s not even one in the afternoon!”_

_“Fuck. You,” came from the phone darkly. “You don’t get to- get to fucking judge me.”_

_“I’m not-”_

_“You’ve got it easy,_ Quartermaster _,” he spat and Q shivered at his tone. “You don’t know. You_ don’t know _. You get to- get to- die! Like_ her _and-” His voice broke on a sob again, and Q could feel tears sting in his eyes._

 _He knew they both had their issues, but he’d had no idea... He’d never seen James like_ this _._

_“James, listen to me-”_

_“-doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. You just_ die _. Or- Or- Or you_ don’t _. But it’s the same. It’s still the same, and I can’- I_ can’t _-”_

_Q swallowed and tried to steady his voice. “It’s OK. It’s alright. Yeah? Just… Listen to me, and- Tell me where you are, yeah? Claridges? I can-”_

_“No!” Q jerked at James’s frantic bark. “No, you can’t come here. It’s not_ safe _. Nowhere-”_

_There was a strange sound in the air. High squealing and then as though half of London held their breath. Q cried out as sharp pain rammed into his side and speared him into the pavement._

_He could hear a distant, tinny scream come from the speaker next to his head, then_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D I'd like to remind everyone that there are still 3 chapters left and also: go look at the tags and know that I will deliver.  
>  (See you on Monday with the next chapter👀)


	3. I sit and watch

Matilda’s body was tense with anticipation. She slashed her tail once, then twice before she stilled, lowering her head minutely and twitching her back. Then came the famous butt wiggle of ever increasing speed, and Matilda jumped. She leapt. With the bearing of a fury descending on the evil damned, she flew at the small toy apple. She missed it by a foot. 

Q had to bite his lip to suppress a giggle as he watched her twist around angrily, curl her body around the toy and begin to punish it for bearing witness to her blunder. 

Next to him on the couch, Nimue gave a loud sigh in her sleep and twitched her paw. She had managed to successfully corner her round nemesis into a gap between the sofa cushions and then continued to sniff the delicious, catnip smell until she fell into a blissful slumber. 

Q stroked one finger down her striped back and breathed a long, slow sigh. He was so lucky to have them, so lucky he hadn’t scrolled past the ad for the shelter on the realtor’s website. It was in moments like these, when he’d dragged himself home with the ball of anxiety threatening to crawl its way from the pit in his stomach up his throat, that he was truly thankful for his disaster cats. They always managed to take him out of himself.

Matilda settled next to her toy, set on pretending to ignore its existence. Q smiled as he noticed her sideways glances and twitching ears. 

Silly cats. He’d really needed them today, and as though they’d somehow guessed, they’d gone out of their way with their antics to make him feel better. At least for a while, anyway. Before the knowledge that he had broken his oath and essentially committed treason for James Bond came to the forefront of his mind once again. 

He’d hacked the archives. Forged a new employee. Given him a family history of heart disease, three failed marriages, two estranged children and a pressing need to do overtime on bank holidays. Then he’d unleashed Craig Mathews upon the Evidence and Records Department of Her Majesty’s Thaumaturgical Depository Office and hoped that the system wouldn’t catch on to the fact that the ID on Craig Mathews’s badge began with an MI6 number combination. Over in the Q branch databases, Agent 007 ceased to exist for the entire hour it took Bond to walk into the archives, locate room 5089-F without drawing attention to himself, and then walk out again with a parting grunt at the receptionist. 

“Smooth sailing all around,” Bond had said afterwards with a tone of surprised delight in his voice, and Q tried his best to stomp down the part of himself that was flattered. 

There was still the matter of putting the knife back, and of course, the ritual. 

Q had forced himself not to think about it, not to go through the myriad possibilities of why _that knife_ might be necessary. After all, Bond had invited himself over and promised to give a full explanation, so there would be no point to Q looking up how much blood was necessary for an earth-cleansing, and if it had anything to do with wards-

There was a knock on the door. 

Closing his eyes, Q exhaled sharply and went to open it. 

“Hello, Q.” 

James Bond stood in his doorway. Q narrowed his eyes at the way his leather jacket clung onto his shoulders. The soft sweater he had on underneath wasn’t too bad, but his jeans really were impossible. Much too tight around the thighs and stylishly torn on one knee. Q really hoped he had some unremarkable, loose jacket in the boot of the Aston, because if this was the get-up he’d shown up in at the archives, it was a miracle the receptionist hadn’t paid any attention to him. 

“That was quick,” he said, though he actually had no idea how much time had passed between Bond quietly asking: “Can I come over?” and now. 

“The traffic wasn’t bad and I took a shortcut,” Bond replied and took a step inside. 

Q closed the door behind him and refused to remark on the fact that Bond shouldn’t have known about any kind of shortcut to his home. Especially, since he’d only just been told the address. He did put it on the list of things for which Bond owed him an explanation, though. 

With one look at the cats, warily watching the proceedings from behind the sofa, he gestured to the kitchen table.

“Better sit down?”

Bond huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I think so.” 

Q briefly considered offering to make tea, but he didn’t actually want to play the gracious host to Bond. So he sat down, motioned for Bond to pull out the other chair and waited. 

The silence was painful. 

It wasn’t that they never talked. Sometimes when they lay in one heap on James’s hotel room bed, Q managed to see the humorous side of whatever had happened to drive him out of his mind that day, and he’d tell James, who’d offer a sarcastic comment or his own opinion. But that was always for _after_. They’d never met for a chitchat. In fact, Q could count on one hand the number of times that it took either of them this long to start demanding the taking off of clothes, or suggesting positions. 

Q was acutely aware that under ordinary circumstances, he’d have James pressed against the kitchen counter with his hand down his pants, and the worst thing was that there was this new look on James’s face that he had no idea what to do with. 

J- _Bond_ was staring him up and down, running his eyes from the top of Q’s glasses to his fraying sweater cuffs, and Q just suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What’s going on? You said you’d explain. So?” he said, doing his best to pierce Bond with his eyes. 

Bond looked away towards Q’s breakfast plate on the table, as though determined to study the breadcrumbs scattered there. Q didn’t scream: _I’m risking my neck for you, you twat, and you still don’t trust me!_

Then, Bond opened his mouth and said: 

“We’re stuck in a time loop and I’m the linchpin.”

Q breathed. 

In and out.

In and out. 

There- There were many ways to react to that statement. 

_Time loops aren’t real_ , was one, the most instinctive reaction. 

_Time loops are a theoretical concept adopted from old folk tales by medieval philosophers for the purposes of arguing against the Colgan heresy,_ was another. 

“I’ll make some tea,” he said instead.

Because, obviously, James wasn’t joking. And whether he only believed it was true, or whether somehow—SOMEHOW? **_HOW?!_** —it was actually true, Q was going to need tea to deal with it. And something to do to still the shaking in his fingers.

He made to rise from the table, when suddenly a warm hand closed around his wrist and another enveloped his palm. 

Eyes wide, Q stared at their hands, then up at James. That look was back in his eyes, and then he stroked his thumb down the back of Q’s hand in a soothing circle, calluses catching against knuckles, and Q’s vision swam. He wanted to run; he wanted to press closer. 

“Please, sit,” said J- Bond, letting go of his hand and rising to his feet. “I can make tea.” 

Q wet his lips and breathed, listening to the blood rushing in his ears. 

A time loop. 

Bond filled the kettle and flicked it on before giving an apologetic shrug in Q’s direction and turning to the cupboard where Q kept his mugs. 

A fucking _time loop_. 

Bond wasn’t crazy, Q knew that. He might have been messed up, they both were, but not in this way, which meant-

“That’s what the ritual is for? To break the time loop?” he asked, voice high and shaking. He cleared his throat and continued: “That’s why you needed the knife? As a shattering?”

Bond set two mugs on the counter and turned to look at him.

“Yes, that’s what we think.” He nodded.

“ _We_?” Q echoed, stung. “Who else is invol-”

“We, Q.” Bond gestured between the two of them. “You’ve been helping me.”

NO, HE BLOODY WELL HADN’T! THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME HE’D- 

Q took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. 

“How long?” he asked.

James grinned mirthlessly. “This is my seventieth Midsummer in a row, darling.”

* * *

#### Deg ar hugain

_The evening sun streamed through the window and turned the rumpled bed into a mosaic of burnished reds and oranges. Blinking at the sight, Q ignored the sudden goosebumps shivering their way down his spine and hurried back under the blankets._

_It had been different this time around, he mused as he took James’s hand and let himself be drawn closer. James’s fingers had lingered—in his hair, on his chest, stroking his cheeks—and in return, Q had found himself gripping tighter, pressing closer… It had felt different._

_He supposed it could have been the location—he’d never brought James home before, and there was a strange dissonance to knowing that and seeing him so familiar with his surroundings—but that didn’t ring quite true._

_The time loop had changed James; that was apparent. They’d spent four days researching, James had said, and Q hadn’t wanted to ask for the total. It wasn’t necessary, they didn’t have time for it, and Q... Q found that he didn’t want to know._

_“Do you mind if I leave the door open?” he asked and, when James shook his head, went on to explain: “It’s just- The cats will realise they’re alone any minute now, and you don’t want to hear the racket.”_

_“It’s fine,” James said quietly and Q suddenly wondered how many times he’d heard him ask that before._

_Keeping hold of one corner of a blanket, he shuffled down the bed and turned over on his stomach. The hair on James’s forearms stood on end at the sudden draft._

_Q wondered if any of the others—his_ predecessors _, he supposed—had gotten around to ending things at the Kitty Hawk, as he had planned. If any of them had ordered the red quinoa salad or the celeriac soup without reading through the ingredients carefully. He hoped not; after all, there were other explanations for why James now knew about his nut allergy. Q could have simply told him._

_Slinking through the crack in the door, Nimue padded over and hopped up on the bed, cautiously eyeing the stranger. Q raised his hand to scratch her chin, and wondered about all the things James might know about him now without Q being the wiser._

_“Where did you get these?” James asked, stroking a finger from Q’s nape down his left shoulder blade. Confused, Q furrowed his brows for a moment before a light sting in the wake of James’s touch reminded him._

_Raising himself on his elbows, he batted Nimue’s curling tail away from his face._

_“From this monster here,” he said with a grin. “She climbed the fridge this morning. She likes hunting things from high-up.”_

_“Good sniper instincts,” James hummed approvingly and reached out a hand. Nimue eyed him mistrustfully, then gave his hand a cautious sniff. Q watched, bemused, as her wariness battled her insatiable desire for an ear massage. She twitched her whiskers several times, before butting her head against James’s palm._

_James stiffened his fingers and dug behind her ears; Nimue purred._

_“They always like me, your cats,” James said suddenly, lips curled into the beginnings of a smile. Q’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to this new expression. “Well, except for the first time,” he added. “But I was breaking in then, and you weren’t very happy with me either.”_

_Q stayed silent, ignoring the sudden churning in the pit of his stomach. James’s tone was still light, but there was a somber undercurrent to it now._

_“We used to have a cat. When I was little.” He swallowed. “Or Kincade did, I’m not sure.”_

_Q’s gaze flitted over to the wide expanse of James’s back. On his side, there was a patch of puckered flesh, an old shrapnel scar. The skin on his shoulder blades was smooth, though, with no discernible wound, and yet…_

_“I was terrified of her.”_

_Q closed his eyes against the impulse to reach out and run a soothing hand down his back. Instead, he edged it closer to James’s palm, laying half-open on the pillow case._

_“She was big and mean. Would always hiss at me.”_

_Not quite touching, still close enough to feel the heat of his skin._

_“But she was probably just old, and tired.”_

_Nim’s deep purrs reverberated through the room, and James moved his hand to her neck as she directed, scratching. Biting his lip, Q let out a long, slow breath._

_“Your cats like me, though. This one especially.”_

_“Nim. Nimue.”_

_“Nimue,” James echoed and Nim’s purring intensified. “The other one’s Matilda, then? She’s a bit more shy.”_

_Q nodded. “They said she wasn’t old enough to leave her mum when the shelter got her. And she was there for longer.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“She’ll come around.”_

_As though she had known they were talking about her, Matilda poked her head in the door. She slipped through and, keeping low to the ground, hurried over to the cat pillow in the corner where she dropped her toy and curled around it. Shaking his head at her, Q huffed out a laugh. Then he took a deep breath and brushed his little finger against James’s thumb._

_“Tell me again?” he asked quietly, feeling his ears heat when James turned his head. He found himself hoping that James would somehow understand both his meanings, and even more so that he’d leave one of them unacknowledged._

_They needed to change the subject, they really did. Q wasn’t sure if he could handle any more of this sudden warmth between them, not when tomorrow- Or, well, in the morning…_

_“We’ve gone through Purvis, Derrida, Sumner, and Herschel’s_ Anthology _,” James recited, brushing back against Q’s hand. Because, of course, he understood. That was just Q’s luck. He might have laughed if it didn’t feel like his heart was breaking._

_Q closed his eyes and let the familiar stream of information wash over him._

_“We’ll need to prepare a ritual. Neither the common antidote, nor Xíbó’s Yellow Emperor, which you modified for local ingredients, worked. On page 256 of_ Positions _, Derrida had a useful idea about the overall shaping of the array: a hexagon could work better than a circle. You want to look through Gauss’s theoretical work next to make sure, and also to run Chrétien de Troyes through the Informations’ software for keywords, to see if there’s anything on what we could potentially use as a shattering.”_

_That was it. The sum of four days of research to which Q had contributed almost nothing. Purvis and Sumner had been a dead-end, and while Gauss and de Troyes might prove viable sources, he’d thought of them too late for his laptop to manage the conversion of their works into a searchable format. He had been going through the summary along with James, trying to see if anything sparked off a new idea, something he might have forgotten, anything really, but his mind drew a blank._

_“We need Q branch computers. And more time,” he said after a while. “You’ll need to tell me sooner tomo- Well. You’ll need to tell me sooner. I think I left for the restaurant around quarter to one, so if you-”_

_“I’ll pick you up before that. We’ll have take out in your office instead,” James filled in._

_Q nodded, mind still whirling. Secondary sources were all well and good, but this was, as far as Q knew, a very unique situation they found themselves in: having to create an arcane ritual from scratch. De Troyes wrote fairy tales of courtly love for the nobles, and Gauss was more concerned with mathematics anyway, so who was to say anything in their works wouldn’t lead them on a wild goose chase._

_“Barometric pressure,” he realised suddenly, sitting up. Nimue next to him twitched her tail at his sudden movement. “We need to do empirical research.”_

_Beside him, James gave an interested hum._

_“We need to see if we can find out how the time loop works. If everything stays the same, and change is affected only by_ your _actions, or if there are other variables. Like the weather.”_

_James was quiet. Looking over at him, Q saw that he was frowning._

_“I’m not sure I like the idea of myself as the butterfly flapping his wings.” He shook his head. “But the weather’s stayed the same.”_

_Q shrugged. “It might have, or it might just seem like it, but the barometric pressure is something we can measure and compare to make sure.”_

_And it would be best to start as soon as possible while James didn’t have the results of multiple calculations to remember. Q wasn’t sure even James’s double-oh training could handle memorization of more than five decimal places on ten different things. And Q knew he was putting the cart before the horse but he had no doubt that once they had their array, those lunar calculations would need to run over several days. The problem was: they didn’t have several days, and if any of the numbers were off…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😁 the next bit coming on Wednesday.


	4. and make some room

_Three Pillars of a ritual. Without them, the moonlight will choke you._
    _The Goddess Moon, from Her comes the power;_
    _The elements: water, fire, earth, air, magic;_
    _The Shattering; which wields the sacrifice. Without them, the moonlight will choke you._

_Three Devices to move time._
    _The Goddess Moon, from Her comes the power;_
    _The Spiral, of nine fold, for those who follow Maelgwan’s six are fools and betrayers;_
    _An Old Blade for a Shattering and to dam the tide._

Fields of young wheat and yellow rapeseed came into view and disappeared behind them just as rapidly. Q threw a quick glance at Bond, who was calmly navigating the holiday traffic, before looking back at the paper in his hands. He had been clutching the printout so long his fingers had creased the previously crisp edges. 

He stared at the old script, the thin black lines of the blueprint, the yellow stains and other discolorations that littered the grimoire page. But he found he couldn’t look at those for long before the scribbled notes in the margins drew his eyes. 

Bond’s handwriting was surprisingly not terrible. Q wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Bond handed him the page, but it certainly hadn’t been cursive with easily differentiated Ns and Rs that could have almost been called elegant if it weren’t for the spidery effect of a few uppercase letters. 

They’d been driving for a while. After Bond’s revelation Q had had only just enough time to set the automatic feeder for Matilda and Nim, because for some reason he had agreed to help Bond carry out the ritual to break the time loop after what felt like only a minute of silent panic in front of the bathroom mirror. 

Q ran his finger along the upper corner of the array blueprint where the green ball-point pen denoting _the_ _staff_ overlapped the printed black lines. He was trying very hard not to focus on how disconcertingly short an amount of time it took for him to walk up to Bond and say: “What do we have to do?” 

The look in Bond’s eyes! 

Biting his lip, Q worried the fold at the bottom of the paper.

He had smiled, handed Q the printout and told him about the _fougou_ in Cornwall and how if they set out soon, they should get there just around sunset. And then he had started the car and quietly left Q to read through everything on his own, speaking up only to mutter an insult at incompetent drivers or to answer Q’s questions. 

And Q had been grateful for that. It was exactly what he’d needed.

Q’s eyes flitted down to the page again. The first triad was nothing new. In fact, that was a quote all the literature on the subject of thaumaturgy liked to use. It lent a sense of tradition and solemnity to a text to have the words of the legendary Morgan in the introduction. He’d been much less familiar with the rest of the page. 

Looking at it, however, Q could see that it made sense. It was impossible, incredible and very crazy, but he could follow the rationale behind Bond’s notes in the margins and the Old Language characters filling up the array. It looked like it should work. It was crazy. 

A fucking time loop. 

Q had long since stopped reeling. But, after the initial incredulity and horror at the situation had passed, he really had no idea what to feel. He’d woken up that morning determined and regretful. After James’s phone call he’d been angry and hurt, but now... 

He had no idea how the seventy days he’d missed (fucking _seventy_?!) changed things, only that they did. 

James had told him he was the one who’d done the majority of the research into the ritual, that his—James’s—job was only to remember the results and report them on, but while Q could see hints of his own reasoning in the notes James had scribbled all over the page, he had no memory of them; he didn’t make them. Still, he had to see it through. 

He- 

He- 

He really needed a hug. And some tea. And his cats.

“Q?” Q startled when he felt James’s hand grasp his knee. He’d done it as though that was a natural thing between them, something they just did. Q could feel the heat of his palm spread from his leg throughout his whole body all the way up to his ears. “Alright, darling?”

And that was another thing. _Darling._ That’s what James called him now, and Q had no idea-

“We should stop for food,” he said instead of answering, tilting his head to check James’s wristwatch. “We’re making good time, aren’t we?”

“Good idea,” James hummed, squeezing Q’s knee and nodding at the sign for the service station. “And good timing.”

It really was, as Q realized with some relief that at least a small part of the queasy feeling in his stomach stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t had a bite to eat since breakfast. Not that he was sure he could actually eat anything upon seeing their choices spread before them in a myriad of fast food chain signs. 

Having lived off instant ramen and rice, he didn't remember any such issues from his time in uni, but somehow he doubted fried chicken or a greasy Burger Mage menu were the best choices for a pre-ritual meal. 

“Hmmm,” James began, all calm and collected. “Should we drive on and try the next one? Though, I suppose we could pop into the Waitrose here and eat in the car, and for di-”

And suddenly, Q just couldn’t stand it anymore.

"James,” he said. His voice was very high and thin. Because that was a brand new arcane ritual on the page James had apparently popped into Q branch to print out that morning. And that he had then casually scribbled on and filled in with research that fit onto a _single,_ A4-sized page. And James seemed fine with that, somehow. Somehow, he was trusting Q to know what to do. Somehow, he seemed completely unaware of what had happened the last time he’d done that. And then Q had plugged in the laptop and-

“Yes?”

Q cleared his throat and clutched the printout so tight the paper squeaked.

“Did he- Did I- This research... This ritual,” he began finally. “It is really risky. Arcane magic isn't-” James was looking at him expectantly, _kindly_ , and Q really had to warn him, because it seemed like he had no idea! 

“It could kill us is what I'm trying to say."

Turning off the engine, James turned in the driver’s seat.

"Q," he said and Q was glad to hear most of the previous lightness had left his tone. "If we die before the ritual is finished, the day starts over."

Q felt that like a punch in his solar plexus. First came relief, and then quiet dread. 

“You’ve done the ritual before?”

“No.”

Oh. 

_Oh fuck_.

“But you- You _know_ that if we-?”

“I know.” 

And with that bombshell, he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. Q sat there for a while longer, contemplating and trying not to focus on things like “how many times have you died?” and “both of us?” and “what happens if we die _after_ the ritual?”.

James was walking around the Aston, ostensibly checking the state of the tires and tracing a few quick runes into the polish. Q followed the movement of his hands, calming down his breathing. 

Downward stroke, and up and to the right. Then symmetrically… Was that a- 

Suddenly curious, Q mimed the gesture. With a light ripple, the printout straightened in his hand, and Q was suddenly staring at an extraordinarily crisp page where both the handwriting and print suddenly seemed a lot tidier. Of all the unnecessary...

Shaking his head, Q huffed out a laugh and folded the paper. 

“We should get a Subway,” he announced once he climbed out of the car, and at James’s quizzical look added: “It feels... safer?”

James nodded with a shrug. If it wasn’t a three-course gourmet meal, he didn’t care, Q knew. Still, Q _had_ noticed that he found Subway sandwiches on the more acceptable end of the spectrum of fast food offerings. 

Once, they’d ordered them delivered after one of their “long lunches”. Then they’d sat on the desk in the empty office and James had listened with a more than slightly skeptical expression on his face while Q extolled the virtues of his regular order. 

The day suddenly felt like it had happened ages ago, when in fact it couldn’t have been longer than-

“You could get us coffees?” James suggested, interrupting Q’s train of thought. Q followed his look to a small coffee stand in front of the red and white monstrosity that was the entrance to KFC. 

“Sure. Get me a-”

“Turkey and ham on a flatbread with lettuce, pickles and mayonnaise?” James finished with a teasing glint in his eyes. Q stared. 

It made sense for _Q_ to remember getting to educate James Bond of unstirred martinis and strong opinions on good quality caviar about fast food. But why on earth would _he_ \- 

“You’re different,” he said, finally voicing the one thing that had been at the back of his mind ever since James had walked into his flat. 

It wasn’t just how calm he seemed about the whole thing. The way he held his shoulders was different, the way he leaned against the car, how he looked at Q... Not to mention all the “darlings”.

“I got therapy,” James answered. 

“When?” Q asked, completely wrong-footed, and feeling very glad that that was the word that fell out of his mouth rather than the very insulting: You? 

“Day seventeen, eighteen. Thereabouts,” he said lightly, though his face grew more serious as he continued: “It wasn’t... easy. You- Dying, then waking up. And drinking is fun for a while when you never get a hangover the next day, but... “ He stopped and shrugged his shoulders, as though trying to shake off a painful itch. “It was time. Especially after Istanbul and... M.”

Q swallowed against the impulse to walk over and see if James’s arms would open. Instead, he twitched a smile, darted out a hand, gave the cuff of his leather jacket an awkward pat. 

“I’ll get you an americano,” he said and headed off, the printout from _Morgan’s Triads_ burning a hole in his pocket. 

As he waited for the teenage barista to finish a round of Rune Ninja on her phone, Q pulled out the paper to study it further. He needed to remember it better: all the lines, the curves, the angles. He had to burn it into his memory and do it _right_. 

The thought of fucking up, and failing James again… If he hadn’t plugged in that laptop, hadn’t let them leave without any- 

Q was going to get this right. 

* * *

#### Hanner cant ac pedwar

_“And then we did the ritual, and Professor Bähr ended up walking around with a stiffy for a week,” Q finished recounting a tale of the last arcane ritual he’d taken part in._

_He’d begun to regret choosing to share it about half-way through, since that particular one was a fairly run-of-the-mill, asking-the-goddess-to-bless-the-land-with-fertility bit and the results were less than stellar. Not exactly something that could inspire confidence in his skills as a mage, even if it was a group project he himself had very little say in._

_Still, across from him, James was laughing into his chicken tikka masala, spraying grains of rice across his tray._

_“The lesson is, I guess, to make sure you put_ earth _in the center, and write the character for_ bull _in such a way it can’t be confused for_ rabbit _,” Q added with a grin, encouraged by the response. It was a pretty funny story._

 _“Well,” James said after he finished wiping his mouth, “I’m sure we’d find some way to occupy the hours if we ended up similarly…_ afflicted _.”_

_Now it was Q’s turn to choke on his soup and snort into his meal. Through watering eyes, he blinked up at James._

_Was that what they were doing now? Acknowledging… the whole thing? Flirting?_

_James’s eyes were sparkling with a new light, and Q wasn’t sure if it was because of the story, or the breakthrough they’d made on their research before deciding to brave the MI6 canteen._

_“Of course,” he said with more calm than he felt. “With your history of evading Medical, there would be no other recourse but for me to say,” he paused for effect, “Take me, James. Right here, right now. Sweep that ugly salt-and-pepper shaker off the table and…”_

_Q trailed off at the look in James’s eyes. All heat and surprised pleasure. It sent a shiver down his spine._

_“We could, you know,” he said in a low, enticing voice, and Q was very glad his spoon was lying in the soup, safely out of his hand. “No one would ever know.”_

_His face fell as he finished, and Q threw a confused look at all the people milling around them, before he also realised._

_It was true: no one would ever know. Well,_ remember _was more like it… Not even Q._

 _It was like being doused in freezing water. Q had seen James’s notes. He knew how much research they’d done and could guess how long that would take. So he had_ known _there were “other” Qs, who both were and weren’t_ him _, still this was different. Suddenly realizing there was essentially a month of experiences he’d had and will never remember._

_He grabbed his spoon and shoved leek and potato soup in his mouth._

_He wasn’t sure what this was. He_ had _known there was a lot he’d missed since James woke him up with a phone call that morning, already standing in front of his door, greeting his cats by name. But this was different. There was so much time_ with James _that he had missed; things that some other version of himself had learned and seen and_ forgotten _. It wasn’t jealousy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but-_

_“Fuck, that was… I don’t know what that was,” James interrupted his spiral. “Except fucking stupid.”_

_He looked tired, all of a sudden. Worn and lost in a way that Q hadn’t seen in him since the day after they’d buried M._

_Reaching across the table, he grabbed James’s hand. “Are you alright?”_

_Q couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like. Going through the same day, over and over with no end in sight. Knowing that nothing he did or tried to change would matter. Once solar midnight came, it would all be erased from existence. When folk tales spoke of time loops, they talked of second chances, learning lessons and righting wrongs. No mention of loneliness, or-_

_“I’m better,” James said with a shrug. His hand felt solid and warm in Q’s grasp._

_“You need rest.”_

_James nodded. “I know. I will ‘take the day off’ tomorrow. Or well, you know.” He grinned tiredly. “Doctor Skeates is always very accommodating with her office hours. Too much, really. Especially for a holiday.”_

_He gestured towards the woman on the other side of the room, who was watching their joined hands with a look of avid interest._

_“I think she’s afraid I will never come back if she makes a bad first impression.”_

_Q felt his ears go red and quickly looked away from the psychiatrist._

_“How does that work?” he asked, giving James’s hand an awkward squeeze before returning to his soup. “Do you tell her about the loop?”_

_James shook his head. “I haven’t for a long time. It’s not exactly productive.”_

_“Hm.” Q could see how it wouldn’t be._

_“I can talk around it when I need to, and she’s... good.”_

_“Good.”_

_James Bond with a therapist. Voluntarily. Q could have laughed with how relieved that made him feel. After Skyfall… It hadn’t been_ Q’s place _to worry or to say anything, not as his Quartermaster—it’d been made clear to him that some level of trauma was considered an asset in a double-oh and not Q's purview—and not as his… whatever he was to James when they’d begun sleeping together. Still..._

 _“Good,” Q repeated and took a bite of a large chunk of potato. “We should try to go through Hywel and Wellek’s collection of_ Heretical Essays _in the afternoon.”_

_He waved his hand as though to further help redirect the conversation before it could fall into another awkward silence._

_“Hm.” James was methodically soaking a forkful of rice in his curry sauce. “Is that where the fertility ritual comes from?”_

_Q cackled. “As a matter of fact, yes. That’s what made me think of it.”_

_James blinked at him in startled surprise, and Q almost laughed again when he switched back to his over-the-top, teasing drawl._

_“Really? Tell me more.”_

_“That’s all I can remember from it, sadly.” Q shrugged, chasing the last drops of soup in his bowl. “I’d like us to actually read these essays though, so if you’re worried they might have content not safe for work, we could take them to my place.”_

_Q really hoped the smile he was giving James was the right amount of teasing and serious._

_“That is an excellent idea, Quartermaster,” James replied with a grin that would make a short-sighted grandma giddy and should have been impossible on a man with a smudge of curry on his chin._

_Q pushed the tray with his bowl aside. “In all seriousness, though, I have to warn you. The essays are very long and full of quotes from old, medieval bastards who had nothing better to do than argue how many moonbeams stream through the eye of a needle.”_

_James shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind if I stay over? I can stay on the couch and don’t need breakfast in the morning.” The last bit was said with a sardonic grin: agent humour at its finest._

_Q snorted. “Sure, you_ can _stay on the couch. Though I have no idea why you_ would _when you know I have a perfectly good bed.”_

_It was an educated guess Q was making here. It felt like a fairly safe bet, though. After all, he knew himself. He watched pleased surprise ripple across James’s face._

_“Now_ that _is an offer I can’t refuse, darling,” he said and rose to his feet._

_Q took his tray and together they headed to the disposal._

_Q supposed it was quite damning how fast he went from wanting to “break up” with James in the morning to inviting him over to his place for “research and chill” in the afternoon._

_Not that they would skimp on the research part._

_Q was well-aware of the fact that it would be beyond lucky to have two breakthroughs in one day, but he wanted to bring them as close as he could. He wanted this Midsummer to be over. He wanted the future._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left. :D It's coming on Friday.  
> If you're enjoying yourself so far, let me know with a smiley face: 😁 If you have no idea where the fic is going, or how Q and James are going to get together, feel free to use 🧙 instead.


	5. for letting light and twilight mingle

With the scorching heat of wings on his back, Q walked forward. The air in front of him shimmered as the light from the array combined with moonlight and caressed his face. 

There was no sound anywhere. No breath, no heartbeat. No whisper of the waves beating against the shore outside the cave. No crunching of sand, dirt and broken seashells under their bare feet. There was no sound anywhere except for the air shimmering all around them, creating the illusion of a silvery song. 

Q could feel himself gasping for breath. His shoulders rose and fell in rapid succession, yet his chest felt light. Enormous. Full of something sweeter than air, something ever expanding. 

Carefully placing his right foot on the _Goddess_ , and his left on the _staff_ , Q let the featherlight feeling spread from his lungs into the soles of his feet. Without his toes gripping tight onto the ground, he might have been carried out into the sky with how little substance there was to his body. It was exhilarating.

James looked beautiful in the moonlight. It lit up his eyes, hugged his curves, and made his scars glow like a hundred fallen stars. Gradually, the pained grimace on his face was replaced with something like wonder. Q’s soundless laughter came out in the form of a glittery mist, fogging the air in front of his face.

They moved together, their bodies bare to the moonlight, feeling it permeate their muscles as they guided it and its magic through the array. It was an amazing feeling, like plunging into a hot bath, and getting to sink deeper, deeper- 

However, there was a delicate balance to walking the lines, letting the moonlight move them. Their steps were carefully choreographed, planned. Yet the magic streaming through their blood sang and beckoned them closer towards the center where the nine coils of the _spiral_ shone brightest of them all. 

Q could feel his fingers itching, his feet turning, ready to carry him where he could fully immerse himself in the blissful, weightless feeling. The _spiral_ sang of flying to touch the stars.

But they had to keep going, or all would be lost. Q turned away to take his next step.

The moment his foot touched _water_ , the magic changed and he had to plant both feet firmly on the character not to lose his balance. Suddenly, the moonlight pressed against his back, grabbed at his wings, bent his spine... Breath coming faster, Q steadied himself and prepared to walk the line to _fire_. 

There was no more featherlight, only lightheaded. They needed to move faster. Magic called to magic and it was only a question of time before it would overpower their will, and direct their bodies how it wanted. 

One step, two, three. Q was walking against a hurricane of light. With each step, another part of the array came alive. Across from him, James was grimacing in pain, clenching his fist around the knife, which blazed red hot in his hand like some evil comet. As the blade traveled through the air, it spat sparks onto the array which sizzled as they fell, and- Fuck, they really needed to move faster.

Q dragged his feet forward: first _earth,_ then _the wheel_ … The light stung in his eyes; his throat was burning up, aching, dry as though someone had rammed fistfuls of sand down it. Something—the moonlight—had replaced all the red blood cells in his veins. Q’s head was swimming; if they cut him now, he’d bleed moonbeams. 

They were so close; they only needed to hold on for a moment longer and keep going until at the end they each stood where the other began. The knife in James’s hand shone with the searing hot blue of a gas ring, and Q had no idea how he could bear it. 

The final inches towards _the stag_ cost him everything. Finally, _finally_ he turned towards the centre whose light was no longer enchanting, but angry, monstrous—it saw and its gaze stripped them bare even of their skin and muscles… Q could feel its stare in his very bones. His knees were shaking and he wanted nothing more than to let go, let the moonlight take him. _They were so close…_

Across from him, James staggered towards the spiral, the burning cursed knife—the thing that mutilated his wings, ended Silva’s life, _their shattering_ —clutched tight in his right hand. 

His hair was soaked with sweat—it streamed down his neck in rivulets. 

His eyes glowed with the light of the blade. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Q could not read his lips. Still, he nodded and began to move forward to meet him in the middle. 

If he’d thought his wings burned before, he was wrong. That was nothing to the pain which speared through his back when his feet touched the _spiral_. In front of him, James threw back his head, muscles straining with the force of his scream. The light was so bright now, the song of the moonlight so strong, Q could see his vision dimming at the edges. His head swam and he distantly realised why: his throat was closing. 

_They were going to die!_

Q flung one arm forward, then the other, not seeing where—no longer _seeing_ , only feeling his clumsy fingers grasp, trying to reach- 

James’s hand was an anchor in the dark. Then Q’s knees gave out. Together, they fell to the floor, and with their combined weight plunged the knife in the centre. 

Then came an ear-splitting screech and everything went dark. 

.

.

.

Q woke up.

He opened his eyes, blinked and felt his heart jump in his throat. _He couldn’t see!_

He couldn’t move. 

Except for his eyelids, not one muscle responded to his command. The sound of raspy, labored breathing filled his ears—his own?

What the fuck-! Where was-?

The ritual… James!

Fuck! _Fuck!_

Q lay panting in the dark, waiting for the paralysis to pass, reminding himself that it by itself didn’t mean they’d fucked up, that sometimes it happened. But trying to keep calm proved difficult when those were only _his own_ breaths he could hear, and no matter how much he strained his ears, he couldn’t make out any other presence in the cave. 

_Where was James?_

Slowly, he managed to sit up. He leaned his back against the cold cave wall and, ignoring the feeling of damp moss and dirt against his back, he began to look around, slowly letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The array had burned out and the moon had mostly moved.

The last thing he remembered was the feel of James’s hand against his as they shattered the ritual. Warm, coarse, _real_ … Where the fuck was he? Q strained his eyes, but except for the vague shape of the cave entrance he saw nothing. 

He’d been so sure they got it right! He didn’t think he’d misstepped in the array, so unless the ritual was fundamentally flawed, or James... 

Something glinted white against the far wall. Blinking rapidly, Q forced his eyes to make out the shape. A bit of shaggy grass with fluorescent leaves, gleaming in a strip of moonlight. Letting out an impatient huff, Q was about to turn away when his brain finally caught up with his eyes. 

“James,” he rasped, cleared his throat and tried again: “James!” 

It was James lying on his stomach against the far wall; the stumps of his wings glittered in the moonlight. He wasn’t moving. 

Q staggered to his feet, hissing as he put his weight on them and the cuts and nicks there came alive. 

James wasn’t moving. He didn’t look to be breathing, but that was just the bad lighting. And the fact that Q wasn’t wearing his glasses. He’d left them with his clothes; they were there somewhere. _James wasn’t moving._

Q had-

Q didn’t-

Q got on all fours and grabbed James’s shoulder. Was he warm, or were his hands too cold? Fingers shaking, he tried to feel his pulse but couldn’t find it, feel it-

“James, James, James, James, James, _James_ ,” he found himself repeating wildly, as he touched his face, felt his stubble. His voice sounded foreign in his ears. “Fuck!”

James groaned, and then Q was hauling him up and into his arms, because _he was alive_. 

He buried his face against his shoulder and breathed in the sweat, dirt and magic that lingered on his skin. James slowly turned his head, and now there was a steady heartbeat against his temple. Q began to laugh. 

“Q,” James rasped into his ear. His voice was much too loud and Q shivered when his breath tickled the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. 

“Are you alright?” he got out in between bouts of hysterical giggles. A warm, heavy hand landed on his back. 

“I don’t know,” James said, voice warm just like his hand on Q’s back, which was currently trying to pat him clumsily. “Your knee is pushing against my bladder.” 

So Q let him go and stood up, but he leaned against the wall and kept laughing. James was alive. They did an untested ritual by Midsummer moon and somehow they were still alive.

“Are _you_ alright?” 

Q shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t find my glasses,” he announced nonsensically, as though that was a major worry he’d had before that moment. But now that he thought about it, it really was. James was a fuzzy shape in the dark, and Q really wanted to be able to see him clearer, to make sure-

“You put them by your clothes,” James informed him. And that was another thing: their clothes. 

“Good idea,” he said. The sweat had cooled on his body and each new draft through the cave entrance sent a shiver down Q’s spine. 

Q went to hunt for his clothes. Behind him, he could hear rustling and the soft clinking of a leather belt being pulled closed. 

“Oh, I see them, Q,” James announced suddenly. “A bit to the right. No, that’s too far.”

Q was scanning the cave floor. Well, mostly just moving his head from side to side while his mind was still a few steps behind him, still registering the feel of James’s breath against his neck.

“A bit to the left.” 

Q swayed in place when he saw where the black lines of array ink had fused with the dirt. He shook his head and stepped on them anyway; they’d all burned out. 

“Just straight on now, darling, can’t miss it.”

It was as he was stepping over the _spiral_ in the centre that Q suddenly realised:

“Where’s the knife?” Because it was not in the centre of the array, where Q was pretty sure they’d left it. Q looked back at James to see if he had it.

“Oh.” James was crouched by the wall, his undershirt hanging in his hands. “Not here.”

Kneeling down, Q began to study the cave floor. He squinted at where the lines seemed darker in the centre of the _spiral_. 

“Fuck… Did it- Did it actually shatter?” Without his glasses, it really was too hard to tell, but the dirt from the floor in the centre of the array did have a more metallic tint and feel to it.

Behind him, James snorted. “Craig Mathews is in trouble.”

“What? Who-” Q turned to frown at him and then he realised, and shot to his feet. “Oh _shit_ , we have to return it.”

James shrugged. “Craig Mathews does.” 

They stood there. James only in his trousers, Q stark naked. In a cave in Cornwall. After managing to _disintegrate_ an ancient cursed heirloom, which was coincidentally instrumental in ridding Britain of a threat to national security, and thus was to be closely guarded in the Evidence and Records Department of Her Majesty’s Thaumaturgical Depository Office until further notice when it could be studied for threat assessment. 

“Craig Mathews can forget about his promising career in civil service,” Q said faintly.

This time, they both broke. Hands on their knees, they fell into desperate giggles, their whole bodies shaking with the force of their laughter.

“I’ll make you another one,” Q promised when they both finally calmed down. “We really do need to return it. I didn’t have time to cover our tracks too well.” His fingers were stained with ink, dirt and sweat, so he used the backs of his hands to wipe his face as best he could. 

Then he realised that James had gone oddly quiet. Q didn’t need his glasses to see that James’s expression changed. His shoulders had pulled tighter as he gripped his undershirt in his hand.

“Darling,” he said in a strangely tentative voice, as though he was afraid to break some terrible news to Q. “We might not- We don’t know if it... worked.”

Fuck.

Fuck. They didn’t. It didn’t kill them; they didn’t die, but that didn’t mean the ritual was successful. And there was no way _to_ know. 

The thought that they went through all that… The thought of the seventy _fucking_ days that Q kept living and forgetting, with James having to get through them all, hanging all his hope on _this_. And to think he’d have to start over, that Q had failed, that come morning, Q would be leaving him all over again.

“Actually, no,” he rasped out. James raised his head at the sound of his voice. “Fuck that.” 

The cave was not large but suddenly, they were much too far apart. 

“Come here,” he ordered, as he marched over to where James stood. “Come here!”

James was standing still, head cocked to the side and Q could see where his words could be confusing to him, but he didn’t care. He grabbed James by the shoulders because he really needed him to get this. Because he was really fucking serious.

“We did it, alright?” he said, squeezing tight to remind himself of the warm skin under his hands. “We _did_ it.” He waited until James nodded before continuing. 

“And even if we didn’t,” he went on, because it was true: they had no fucking way of knowing. “Even if we didn’t, you’re going to tell me again. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning when you wake up, you will call me and tell me. Everything. Do you understand? Because I’ll want to know. I need to- I can’t stand missing you, fucking _forgetting_ another-” He paused to calm down, to compose himself. This speech had really got away from him, and he felt trapped in the warmth of James’s eyes. 

“We did it, yeah?” Q repeated, softer. Letting go of James’s shoulders, he gave a shrug and tried for a smile. “And if not, we’ll start over. I will- I will make this _right_.” 

“Darling,” James breathed and then his mouth covered Q’s, and his hands were in Q’s hair and Q fell into the kiss. He might have groaned when James's mouth fell open and he got to lick inside and _taste_ , he really had no idea. James’s mouth was hot against his own, and Q chased it when he began to move away to say:

“Darling, my-” James panted against his lips. 

“Yeah.” Q nodded and kissed him again. His stubble rasped against Q’s palm, burned deliciously against his lips, and Q-

“Darling,” James was talking again. Pressing kisses against Q’s cheekbone, his jawline, and _talking_. “You always choose me. Every time. And darling, you don’t- You don’t _owe_ me. And you chose me without- Why?” His voice cracked.

Q stopped and pulled away. _Why_?! There were tears glistening in James’s eyes, and really Q couldn’t stand this, wouldn’t stand for it. 

_Why?!_

“Take a fucking guess,” he said and pulled James into another kiss. He ran his hand down his side, feeling the scars there, pausing at the belt. He stroked the small of his back, enjoying the way James shivered at the touch. He wrapped his arms around him, careful not to touch his shoulder blades, and mouthed the line of his shoulders before pressing a kiss to James’s neck, lingering when he felt his heartbeat jump under his lips. 

James smiled into their next kiss, before grabbing Q’s thighs and lifting him into his arms as though he weighed nothing. As though he could support his weight with one hand under his arse, the other resting on his thigh, and Q’d be damned if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing. 

Art by Only_1_Truth ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth), source: [Wordpress](https://only1truthfanfiction.wordpress.com/2021/02/13/another-of-my-arts-for-the-2021-00q-rbb/))

He enjoyed tilting James’s head up, stroking one thumb against the corner of his jaw. He enjoyed the steady rhythm of James’s kiss, how he knew just when the next pause was coming to nip at James’s bottom lip. He hummed in satisfaction; James had learned to kiss him so well. 

What Q didn’t particularly enjoy was the feeling of the damp cave wall that James pressed him up against. 

“Er, I think we should take this outside,” he said, breaking the kiss. James winced in sympathy and let him down. 

In the end, it seemed more expedient for James to go and get Q’s clothes, while he waited by the cave entrance and quickly grabbed his glasses and pulled on his boxer briefs before exiting, in case some Midsummer revelers happened to be passing by.

The air outside was warm, still Q shivered when a gust of wind brought a spray of saltwater from the waves beating against the shore. For a moment, he’d considered how nice it would be to plunge into the sea and wash off the grime from the cave. The goosebumps on his skin told him just how bad of an idea that was. James’s hand was warm against his as they walked up the path to where they’d left the Aston. 

They took turns with the wet wipes James had unearthed from the boot of his car, along with a first aid kit. They’d also found a large blanket, carefully folded into a remarkably flat package, and spread it on the ground. As Q dabbed iodine at the small cuts in his feet, he found a moment to be grateful for the standard kit someone in Q branch had remembered to put in the Aston when they’d returned her to James.

The palm of James’s right hand was red and looked sensitive, but unburnt. Q caught his fingers and brought it up to his face to make sure, the memory of the red-hot blade shooting sizzling sparks onto the cave floor still fresh in his mind.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. When James shrugged, he raised it to his lips, pressing a careful kiss in the middle. Then, lowering the hand, Q lightly sketched a rune against the calluses there. 

“Better?”

The stars reflected in James’s eyes nicer than the moonlight did. Especially when his pupils grew until only a thin strip of blue remained. Smiling, he grasped Q’s hand and pulled. And suddenly, Q found himself lying on top of James, looking down into his smiling eyes. 

“Much better,” James hummed, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sight of Q’s surprised face.

Q had to kiss that terrible, smug expression off his face. There was no other option. James made a pleased sound against his lips, as though Q had somehow played into his master plan. Q rolled his eyes and kissed him harder, licking the roof of his mouth and gasping when that made James roll his hips. 

“Fuck, wait, wait,” Q groaned. “What about your feet?”

“I don't care,” James replied, catching his mouth again. “Kiss them better later.” 

Snorting, Q pulled away. The expression on James's face said he also wasn't sure what had happened to his words on the way between his brain and his mouth. 

“While I'm not against trying out new kinks, James,” he said, chortling, “I'm not kissing your _bloody_ feet.”

He rolled away, still laughing, and went to grab the bottle of disinfectant to throw at James's head, who grumbled but began to carefully clean the nicks and cuts on his soles.

Laying down on the blanket, Q looked up at the stars. The moon was off to the side, and the whole sky was a large velvety blanket dotted with millions of small, shining lights. Q searched them for the Big Dipper and for a moment amused himself by drawing a line between it and the North Star and adding and subtracting hours for time zones. It wasn’t midnight yet, but soon. 

In the far distance, he could hear soft pops as some party goers at Tintagel got tired of waiting and were starting their fireworks already. But even if they’d waited till midnight to the dot, they’d be an hour too early. 

1.17am, that was the time of solar midnight James had marked down on the grimoire printout. That’s when they’d know.

Q scooted closer when James settled down beside him. There was no reason not to be touching when they could. When James’s body was so warm and there and _James’s_. 

“It started when I crashed the Aston,” James said suddenly. Q almost got a whiplash with how fast he’d turned to look at him. “One moment I was not braking fast enough, and the next I was sitting up in my bed. I thought it had been a dream at first, until I met you for lunch and you ended things again.” 

_Fuck._

“James,” Q began. He hadn’t even realized, hadn’t had time to realize, that of course this was something James would know. 

“I understand, darling. I wasn’t... angry, or maybe I was, I don’t know.” Q could feel his arm brush against him as he shrugged his shoulders, before he continued: “Things were pretty shit for a while. But I didn’t realize exactly how shit until an experiment you suggested showed me that anything and everything that happened differently was only down to my actions.” 

A strange, bitter note entered his voice at the last words. Q raised himself on his elbow and grabbed James’s hand. 

“That street of yours, Q,” James went on, shaking his head. “It’s like a fucking minefield.”

“What do you mean?” Q asked quietly, before he realized he knew. 

“You died. So many times. And I could never help you, and I didn’t know why when you hadn’t that first day, until I checked the barometric pressure readings on Heathrow’s website five Midsummers in a row.”

“James,” Q began, sitting up and only barely managing to fight off a shiver at the thought that he had _died_. “Unless you personally drove the car, or shot the gun, or... whatever, none of that is your fault.” He made sure James was looking at him, before adding: “Yeah?”

James nodded. “Dr. Skeates made me start coming around to the idea eventually,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m telling you.” He paused, swallowing. “I have to make sure that you know- Before, in the cave- I have to make sure you know that _you don’t owe me_. Not anything. I don’t know if-” Again, he paused before looking straight into Q’s eyes and saying: “What happened at Skyfall was not your fault, darling.”

Q gaped. Swallowed. Blinked against the sting in his eyes. “James, he wouldn’t have-”

“You don’t know that,” James interrupted. “Unlike me, you don’t know what would have happened, if you’d done anything differently that day. So, please-”

“Alright,” Q said, knowing to let it go for now. He wasn’t sure if he agreed with James’s logic, but he couldn’t think of how to contradict his argument, especially since it looked like James wasn’t finished.

“Before, in the cave,” he said again. “When I said you always choose me, I meant that you always believe me. You always decided to help, almost as though you didn’t realize that you didn’t have to. Even when we met at the Kitty Hawk and you ended things, you still went back to the office with me and poured over old books and, Q, I need you to know that you don’t _owe_ me anything.”

Q was quiet for a while. He waited and weighed his responses.

“That’s rubbish,” he said finally. 

“Q-”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted him gently. “I’m your fucking Quartermaster, James. I owe it to you to keep you safe. To help you out in tough spots when you’re alone out in the field. And I’m always going to do that.” James was shaking his head and opening his mouth to disagree. Q leaned over him and cradled his face in the palm of his hand. “I am,” he added emphatically, before stroking his cheek.

“But no, I don’t owe you this,” he said and bent down to kiss his lips. 

“Or this.” James raised his head as though to chase his mouth when Q pressed a kiss high on his cheekbone. Huffing out a laugh, he fell back against the blanket.

“Or this.” Q darted to the side and nipped at his earlobe. 

“You ninny,” he added when he pulled away and could see the surprised look in James’s eyes. 

“But you broke up with me?” James said as though he couldn’t help himself.

“We weren’t dating,” Q retorted and at James assenting grimace, added: “And I didn’t say you were the only ninny here, did I?” 

Then, suddenly, James was rising on his elbows, grasping the back of Q’s neck and then he was kissing him. 

Frankly, Q wasn’t sure what part of that statement deserved such a reaction, but he wasn’t about to complain when James ran his lips along his jawline, before taking his mouth again, turning the kiss dirty with a single flick of his tongue. Q groaned into his mouth, and grabbed his shoulders to steady himself when James began to push him onto his back. 

Q dragged him down with him and gasped when James’s lips landed on his neck. James sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin under his jawline, and Q was moaning, bucking his hips, his cock already half-way to hard. 

“You like that?” James asked, and Q was about to roll his eyes when he saw the genuine surprise in his eyes. 

“Sure seems like it,” he grinned with a nod to the growing wet spot on his boxer briefs. James huffed out a laugh and bent down to lavish attention on the other side of Q’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Q groaned, because: fuck, that was _lovely_. “I guess this answers the _questionnnnnn_ \- If sex in the loop got boring for you.” 

He immediately wished he could swallow his words, since they made James stop and raise his head from the new place he’d discovered on Q’s neck that Q would really like him to return to. 

He got a disbelieving look for his trouble, before James shook his head at him and with a muttered: “Ninny,” went to suck his nipples. 

Q couldn’t have helped the cry that tore out of his throat if he wanted to. James licked one nipple, then the other before returning to the first and rolling the other in this fingers and fuck- Q never should have told him about his nipples. 

“I never should have told you about my nipples,” he moaned regretfully because he was going to come in his pants, if James didn’t stop. He just knew it. 

James stopped. Whining pitifully, Q bucked his hips, needing him to come back, before what James was saying penetrated the pleasant fog in his mind.

“Too late,” James said and tapped his temple. “That is a steel trap, that is.” 

And then he was bending down to plant a trail of kisses down Q’s stomach and Q was covering his face with his hands, groaning because he was in love with someone who said things like _that_.

James nosed at the line of his pants, nipping delightfully at the sensitive skin there. He ran his thumbs under the elastic, teasing, while his mouth breathed hot against Q’s inner thigh. 

And then he stopped. Whining, Q raised his head to see what caused the hold-up, and apparently, James was waiting just for that. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly, unnecessarily slowly, began to pull them down. He fucking _licked his lips_ at the sight of Q’s cock, and then he was looking straight into his eyes—all dark heat, and teasing promise—as he began to lower his head.

Q watched as James held his gaze and took him into his mouth. He groaned as he felt the wet heat envelop his cock while James’s lips stretched around it, and then he couldn’t watch any longer because James sucked on the head just so and Q was throwing his head back, moaning. 

James continued sucking his cock and Q alternated between staring wide-eyed at the night sky, trying to find constellations to stop himself from coming too soon, and closing his eyes to sink into the sensation of James’s tongue, laving against his veins, his lips dragging against the sensitive skin, and his hot calloused hands on his thighs and balls, holding him in place.

Then Q made the mistake of raising his head to see- 

James’s head between his thighs was not a new sight, still Q watched entranced at the way his cock kept disappearing between his lips, as James kept taking him deeper and deeper. Q’s hands fell into James’s hair, then back to the blanket, clenching, grasping, trying to find something to hold onto. And then he couldn’t hold on anymore because suddenly, there was a warm palm on his stomach and James was pressing a finger against his taint, circling his hole, and Q was gone, arching his back, bucking his hips, coming.

He fell against the blanket, gasping for breath, vaguely registering James pulling his pants back up and tucking him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he could finally speak. “Come here, come here!” He grabbed at James’s arms, trying to drag him up towards his mouth.

James came willingly, letting him lick into his mouth lazily, suck and bite at his lower lip… He groaned when Q ran his fingers through his hair, and then slid one hand down his side to knead his arse. 

“What do you want?” Q breathed against his lips. “There’s lube in the first aid kit.”

James kissed him instead of answering, rolling his hips when Q licked against his tongue, teased the roof of his mouth. His cock was a hot, hard line against Q’s hip as they kept kissing, rocking into each other.

“Your thighs,” he panted finally. Q moaned in approval, raising his hips to tear off his boxer briefs while James rolled off to rummage in the first aid kit. 

Then he was back, dragging his lips up Q’s spine, running his palms up his thighs, sliding between them with a groan. 

Q squeezed his legs and rocked back against him, enjoying the feel of James’s chest against his back and the wet slide of his cock as James fucked his thighs. His breath was hot against Q’s ear and when Q turned his head to meet his mouth, he gave a pleased hum. 

They both groaned when James paused to throw one leg over Q before sinking in between his thighs again. The new angle pushed them closer, made James’s cock nudge against his sensitive balls with every stroke. Q grabbed his thigh, feeling the fine-coarse hairs against his palm as he stroked up and down, before searching for the soft, sensitive skin on the inside. James keened into the kiss.

For a moment, Q found himself wishing they’d taken the time and it was his arse James was now fucking instead of his thighs, and they could kiss properly, but then James’s mouth fell slack against his and that was James’s hot come streaking against his thighs and balls, and fuck, it was glorious.

For a while they just lay there under the starlight, panting. Then Q spotted the packet of wet wipes and stretched out to get them. 

They didn’t talk while they wiped themselves clean; after, they curled into each other and just breathed, letting the sweat cool on their bodies. 

“We should get dressed,” Q sighed after a while. He could feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier by the second. James’s palm was a warm, comforting weight against his ribs, as he hummed his assent. Yet neither of them moved. 

Finally, limbs heavy, they rose to their feet and, one supporting the other, stumbled over to where they’d left their clothes in one pile on the car bonnet. Q had to draw the cleaning runes at least three times before they took; James four, and laughing they struggled into their clothes before falling back onto the blanket. 

As far as Q was concerned, he refused to move ever again. 

“Hmm,” James agreed, tucking his head under Q’s jaw. “Not for a century.” 

Then a firework display lit up the sky above Tintagel, and Q found he could force his eyes to stay open for a while longer. 

It had to be the official celebration; red, blue and white lights kept bursting into glittery waterfalls in well-timed succession. 

“God save our gracious Queen,” James sang under his breath, before groaning his displeasure when Q’s giggling jostled his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Q laughed. “Sorry.” 

But he wasn’t.

James only shook his head at him before settling down again. 

“We could stay awake,” Q offered after the fireworks ended. “It’s only an hour and a bit more.” 

James hummed noncommittally, fingers tracing the paths between Q’s ribs. Q stroked his thumb across the corner of his jaw. The stubble there was quite coarse against the pad of his finger, yet the skin under James’s ear felt thin, delicate.

“There’s something you asked me to tell you,” James said out of the blue, jostling Q from his sleep-slow thoughts. He didn’t remember-

“You know, _before_ ,” James continued. His body was a warm weight on top of Q and his voice rumbled pleasantly against his ribs. 

“Yeah?” Q prodded, moving his hand to stroke the ball of his shoulder.

“It’s about Kincade’s cat,” James explained. “Or maybe she was his wife’s, I’m not sure. She was horrible.”

“His wife?”

“No, Effie was lovely. It was the cat. I don’t remember her name. I’m not sure she had one. They always called her The Cat.” 

“ _The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter_ ,” Q hummed under his breath, reminded of an old poem.

“Maybe,” James allowed, running his fingers up Q’s forearm to his palm. “Whatever her name was, she was awful. Hated my guts.” 

“Beast.”

“She always laid herself on the windowsill in Effie’s kitchen next to the tin where she kept her biscuits, and she would hiss at me and try to scratch me whenever I walked past.”

“Very vicious,” Q agreed, lips crooking in a smile as his mind conjured up the image of a small, blond boy, trying to steal sweets in between mealtimes. He shivered when James’s fingers tickled his palm. James’s head felt pleasantly warm and heavy against his chest.

“-your cats like me, though. They always do,” James’s voice once again filtered through Q’s sleepy daze. “Nimue, especially. Matilda always takes a while to warm up.”

“She’s shier.” The words felt thick and heavy like molasses in his mouth. “Didn’t stay with her mum long enough. The shelter said they found her in a box somewhere.”

“Bastards,” James muttered darkly.

“Yeah.”

“They always like me, though. Your cats.” 

“Of course, they do,” Q replied, a memory from the afternoon resurfacing. He’d come out of the bathroom to find Nim butting her head into James’s palm. He was murmuring something at her, voice low and warm. Matilda was peeking out from behind the sofa, curious about the stranger, but scared to come closer. “They know you’re mine.”

Q’s eyes had sealed themselves shut; there was nothing he could do about it now. 

“See you in the morning,” sounded low and lovely in his ears and the last thing Q felt was a rasp of stubble and a press of warm lips against his chest, before he knew no more.

.

.

.

Q was lying on something cold and wet and there was a lead weight on his stomach. Panic spiking in his heart, his eyes flew open and Q found himself blinking at a world doused in gentle, yellow light. 

The sea roared as it crashed against the rocks; the high tide brought the waves closer. The cries of seagulls were almost lost in the cacophony. They flew high above the bay, dark smudges against the orange sky. 

The morning air stung in Q’s eyes. He had to blink rapidly to clear them as he took in the scene and allowed himself to understand that it was morning. That the weight on his stomach was James’s arm he’d flung there while they were asleep. 

Laying his head back down on the blanket, impatiently pushing away his glasses which had fallen there, Q covered his face with his hands and let himself sob in relief. For ten second, twenty, no more. 

All of that... happened. And they were here. And James-

James was lying sprawled out next to him, using his other arm for a pillow under his cheek. His lips were slack in his sleep; his cheeks had smushed awkwardly against his biceps with rows of knitting imprinting on his cheekbone. His chest was rising and falling with deep, regular breaths. There was a line of pink skin on the small of his back, dotted with goosebumps where his sweater had ridden up during the night. 

Q felt his lips curve in a smile at the sight. Rubbing his hands to warm them up, he traced a finger along the exposed skin, enjoying how James wriggled in his sleep, searching out the warmth. 

Again, he teased a finger along the small of James’s back, before he bent down until his lips brushed his ear and whispered: 

“Wake up, love. It’s tomorrow.”

-THE END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote folks. Thank you, everyone, for reading. 💖  
> If you have time, let me know how you liked it. Also, go to Truth's [Wordpress](https://only1truthfanfiction.wordpress.com/2021/02/13/another-of-my-arts-for-the-2021-00q-rbb/) and/or [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth) and let her know how much you love her art. 
> 
> In case, you're wondering: The names for the fic and the chapter titles come from [this lovely poem by Pádraig Ó Tuama](https://poets.org/poem/between-sun-and-moon).
> 
> Kudos and comments are _greatly_ appreciated.


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